It is typical for Glen, the kids and I to put up our Christmas decorations right after the tryptophan-induced coma that comes with the consumption of large quantities of turkey on Thanksgiving Day has worn off. And so it was the case on Friday that Glen retrieved all of our Christmas storage bins from the shelves in the garage, thus heralding another season of Advent for our family.
The kids were particularly eager to get the tree up this weekend. While Glen and I both wanted to wait until everyone was awake, alert, and in the holiday spirit - and not dive in to the project groggy at 8:00 on a Friday night, David and Elizabeth would have none of it. After much negotiation, David and Elizabeth won. Tree trimming was a GO!
And what a splendid tree we have this year! Because we'll be spending most of Christmas week up in the Bay area this year, we decided to decorate the 4-foot tall artificial tree that we've had for several years. This enables us to keep the tree lights on (on a timer, of course) while we're gone and with little risk of setting the house ablaze. David and Elizabeth were in their element. This year, they each took particular interest in the collection of ornaments that have been designated as their very own. Since the time they both arrived on this earth, Glen and I have collected numerous ornaments that are personalized, dated, and significant of any number of milestones in their lives so far. Of course, David has about twice as many ornaments as Elizabeth, but I assured her that she'd catch up in due time. Once the tree was up, Elizabeth insisted in leading us in a prayer to Santa Claus, which included requests for Barbie dolls.
In keeping with our holiday spirit, the kids and I saw the movie "Arthur Christmas" yesterday. What a fantastic movie it was! Well worth the price of admission, and then some. It was such a wonderful story about the true meaning and spirit of Santa Claus and Christmas, with the take-away message that every single child is important. Oh, we just loved it!
But I was not prepared for the philosophical discussion that was about to take place once we returned to the car after the movie was over.
"Mommy," David asked, "do you believe in Santa Claus?"
"Absolutely!" I replied, not adding, "and you're talking to her right now."
"Well," he continued, "some people don't believe in Santa Claus, but I do."
"Me, too!" chimed Elizabeth.
"Mommy?" David asked, "some people say that Santa Claus isn't real."
I didn't answer right away, and I was a bit taken aback by my momentary feeling of conflict. But, I dove back in, and said, "of course he exists. At least, I sure hope so."
"Well," David continued, "some kids say that there is no Santa and that their parents put presents under the tree and just put on the tag that it's from Santa but it's really from the parents. But you wouldn't do that, right?"
Well, yikes. There it was, staring me in the face: the dilemma of how to navigate the Kris Kringle issue. Running through my brain ever so briefly were the following arguments:
Option #1: Stick with the story. The kids are little; they still believe in the magic of Christmas; they still have beautiful imaginations that don't need to be jaded and squashed so early; they deserve to have the reassurance that Christmas is about miracles, magic, reindeer, Santa, and snow (well, the latter would be more applicable were we still in Chicago).
Option #2: Fess up. Lying is bad.
After a thoughtful, well-argued five-second debate took place deep within the confines of my brain, I went with ... Option #1.
Now, that is not to say that, come Christmas Eve, I will attempt to recreate the sound of reindeer hooves on the roof of our apartment in Newark. But David and Elizabeth will indeed have a present from Santa - not mommy and daddy, but SANTA - under the tree on December 25.
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